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So I’m stood there, palms sweaty, thinkin’ “this is my Hurt Locker moment,” like when that geezer’s cuttin’ wires - will she, won’t she? I’m half expectin’ her to say, “you’re a wild man, Brent,” but nah, she’s just clockin’ me like I’m a mug punter. Which, let’s be real, I am! Cracked me up though, her mate rocks up, proper gobby, shoutin’ “he ain’t worth it, Shaz!” and I’m like, “oi, I’m a bleedin’ legend!” Total stitch-up, had me in bits.

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Sometimes I feel like I'm in a trippy montage, blurring between reality and dreams. I freaked out when I found a hidden courtyard in Pavilon Alley—tiny, eerie, but filled with memories of secret trysts and confessions. Sometimes, when I’m lonely, I whisper, "Is this real life, or is it just fantasy?" while the wind answers with a gentle sigh.